dive
by fiction fetishist
Summary: because as his world grew and grew, hers shrank and shrank — NPC!Lyra


**Fandom:** Pokémon

**World:** Game

**Characters/Pairings:** NPC!Lyra, Champion!Ethan, slight Ethan/Lyra

**Words:** 1,398

**Summary:** because as his world grew and grew, hers shrank and shrank

—

notes: i've taken some liberties with game canon, i hope you don't mind

—

She dreams of blue skies and open fields, the tall grass tickling her feet, the wind running through her hair, arms wide as if to say 'Come at me, World!', as she runs and runs and runs and runs—but when she wakes up and feels Marill curl against her, the sweet smell of the countryside wafting through her windows, the soft morning breeze caressing her cheeks, she decides that _maybe_, just maybe, her little world in New Bark Town is all the world she needs, and tries to ignore the ache in her chest and the yearning at her core as her PokéGear rings, Ethan's name flashing on the screen.

Lyra puts on her best smile and presses the button, "Hey, Ethan! How's it going?" and tells herself she isn't jealous of the thrill in his voice, the unfamiliar sound of new towns and new adventures, the purr of his new Pokémon. "I really wish you were here to see this, Lyra," his voice is sincere and she lets herself falter at his words. 'I wish I were, too,' but the view beyond her window looks impossibly wide and she drowns in the safety of her bed, Marill still sleeping soundly beside her, and the words sink in the back of her throat.

Ethan calls her back a while later, "Hey, uh, did something happen earlier?" His tone is worried and her fingers are tight against the plastic. "Oh, don't worry about that!" she reassures him, but her voice sounds unreal even for her. "My mom just rushed me to do some errands." Ethan doesn't notice. "You know how she is," Lyra adds, for good measure, as she hugs her knees tight, her fingers digging into the waves of her bedsheets. "Well, I'm glad you're alright. I'll call you soon, okay?" She feels him practically beaming on the other end. "Okay," she says and she stares out the window and into the bright summer sky and wonders why she feels so cold.

—

It's not as if she wasn't allowed to have her own adventure. Her parents probably wouldn't even bat an eye if she were to leave one day, bag in one hand, Pokéballs in the other. Professor Elm still comes over from time to time to tell her that Chikorita would love to have her as its trainer, and Lyra replies, "Oh, I don't know about that," and shrugs the topic off, but in her mind, they'd already conquered the league countless times—Champion Lyra—the name runs through her head over and over and she likes the way it rolls off of her tongue and into her fingers, imaginary badges at her fingertips, the world at her feet—but then her mother calls her for dinner and she files the thought away, deep into the recesses of her mind.

"Well, just come over and tell me if you change your mind."

She won't.

—

Lyra doesn't think herself a _strong_ trainer per se, but she certainly knows what she's doing. Having a Day Care couple for grandparents doesn't exactly leave one lacking in the Pokémon knowledge department. The Youngsters even consider her a sort of prerequisite before challenging Falkner's gym, a notion she finds flattering, but laced with hidden bitterness, because they all beat her, eventually, and the congratulations seem forced as she clutches her Pokéballs a bit too tightly and they give her high fives and "Thanks a lot, Lyra! I couldn't have done it without you!", and shower her with praise as she tries to hide the resentment welling in her eyes.

—

"I think I'm getting rusty," she mumbles to Marill absentmindedly one day, and the blue Pokémon gives off what she thinks are sounds of encouragement. She hasn't even so much as _seen_ a wild Pokémon since Ethan left six months ago, because as his world grew and grew, hers shrank and shrank, and suddenly the thought of tall grass and locked eyes makes her feel nauseous.

She eyes the Pokéballs and dusty running shoes in the corner of her room and thinks, "Maybe tomorrow."

—

Ethan doesn't call her as much as he used to, she notes as she stares into the ceiling, midafternoon sunlight casting gold hues onto her pale walls, reminding her of silly boys with bright eyes and warm smiles, PokéGear clutched high above her head. Lyra supposes it's natural. He's probably off training like Champions-to-be ought to or something, and the thought comes off a lot harsher than she intends.

She hears about him sometimes, when her mother watches TV a bit too loudly and the host's voice reaches her room, talking animatedly about some young new trainer breezing his way through the Pokémon League. She tries to watch it once, but when the commercial ends and they say it's time to interview this boy wonder, she stands up and walks to her room, back huddled against the door. It all feels so strange.

—

When she glances at her calendar one Sunday morning, she realizes it's already been a year.

How time flies.

—

"Hey, Marill," the words leave her mouth almost a whisper and the blue Pokémon looks over at her in response. "What do you say we go out for a jog?" It was more of a thought rather than an actual invitation, really, but her mother has been nagging her to get out of the house, and the weather _does_ seem awfully inviting.

When Marill squeals at the idea in approval and nudges at her feet, well, who is she to refuse? She gently makes a move for her running shoes, letting her fingers swim across the crisscross of the laces before slipping them on in one fluid motion.

Before she knows it, she's sprinting out the door and into the fresh air with Marill bouncing along after her as she runs and runs and runs and runs.

—

When her legs feel like they'll give in under her, and her lungs leave her gasping for breath, and her smile is so wide it reaches her eyes, her feet take her back to her doorstep, where she meets a boy who is not quite a boy anymore, hand hovering over the wood as if to knock, but eyes unsure if he should.

"Ethan?" the name escapes her lips before she has a chance to think. "Ah, Lyra," and her arms wrap around him, hugging him tight, absorbing his warmth, fingers pressing against the threads of well-worn shirt, letting the scent of wood and sunshine permeate her senses. Ethan smiles, "I've missed you, too," and he holds her close, hand rubbing gentle strokes on her back, while Marill pokes playfully at his feet. Ethan chuckles, "It's great to see you too, Marill."

"Uh, listen," Ethan says, after a while, "I know it's kinda sudden and I know I just got back here but—" Lyra looks up at him but doesn't let go, "But?" Ethan rubs the back the back of his neck awkwardly, "Well, I was thinking of heading to Kanto—" and Lyra lets her hands drop to her sides and her gaze fall to the floor, "_Oh._" She should have expected as much, really. Champions don't become champions so they can go back to their hometown. Champions become champions so they can _leave_. So she takes a step back, only to have Ethan take a step forward, taking her hands into his as he stares into her eyes, "—I was thinking of heading to Kanto, and I was _really_ hoping you'd come with me this time. So, will you? Please?"

A wave of uncertainty crashes into her as memories of when, eight badges and a League title ago, he was just a boy with big dreams and she was just a girl in this small town flood her thoughts, and questions of 'Won't you come with me?' echo in her ears.

His hands are warm around hers and the look in his eyes burns into her mind. She can feel her palms start to sweat and her mouth overflowing with 'no', but there is an itch at her feet that begs to be scratched by newfound land, and a ship headed toward adventure at her core that needs to set sail.

So she swallows all her worries, takes a deep breath, holds his hands tight, looks deep into his eyes, and takes the plunge.

"_Yes._"


End file.
